


Memories - Day 1: History/Decay

by gyromitra



Series: Reaper76Week stuff [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Day 1: History/Decay, M/M, Word salad, angst - duh, reaper76week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 14:58:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9330401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyromitra/pseuds/gyromitra





	

Memories are like photographs. They fade. They become lost. They can be falsified – be a thing that happened but never occurred. Who can tell when ‘I love you’ becomes ‘I hate you’.

It is but a little memory, blue to brown, and a touch of cloth. Gentle, urgent and caring. ‘We are friends’ drifting towards ‘we are lovers’.

“Stop fucking squirming, for Christ’s sake,” Jack growls under his breath, bristling at the cacophony of war around them. “I need to fucking clean it.”

“You’re doing shit job then, Morrison,” Gabriel grinds out at the jab to his side made in retaliation.

“I’m so itching to leave your ass out here, so you get it perforated more,” the gauze is gone and the burning pain subsides compared to the feeling of pincers forced inside. “On three.”

“Fuck your three.”

“Fuck you, Reyes. One. Two.” Jack’s lips are on his own, the kiss deepening, and Gabriel bites down hard when the blonde tears the metal out of his flesh. “Three.”

“Puta,” Gabriel licks the blood while Jack fills the hole with foam.

“The verdict is in, you will live, but you’re a shitty kisser.”

“It gets better with repetition.” Gabriel groans when the wound is dressed.

“Going to take you up on that one,” Jack winks at him.

Neither of them addresses the kiss later, not until they are both drunk and Jack pulls Gabriel closer by his tie.

“How about that repetition, Reyes?”

Everything comes into focus and soon there are hands roaming, exploring. Nothing much happens, but what does happen is enough.

“On three, Morrison,” Gabriel snarls amidst rubble, gun pointed at the kneeling man, blue to brown, resigned acceptance in the air. What better way to end everything than how it started?

Memories are like photographs. They burn in fire and scatter on wind.

“Am I supposed to know who you are?” Soldier gasps and the hand on his neck slowly falls away.


End file.
